


Spontaneous

by sugarlump



Series: DC College AU [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Batfamily Feels, Christmas, Cute Dads, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, M/M, SuperBat, Timkon, batfam, bruce and clark are best dads, dat boi is in here too, gotham in winter, its all fuff guys, joyfire - Freeform, nine years after my college au that i still have to post lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8756824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarlump/pseuds/sugarlump
Summary: Clark insists he and Bruce do something spontaneous with Bruce's day off. Bruce isn't so keen on it, but Alfred has some ideas.Or: In which the Wayne-Kent's visit their kids all day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The original file name for this was 'theyre stupid and I love them_superbat drabble.docx' so that kinda tells you everything you need to know tbh  
> I highly recommend listening to The Christmas Song, instrumental version by the Eddie Higgins Trio bc that’s basically what inspired this ridiculous fic. It’s all fluff, so strap in.  
> This takes place in my no powers/no heroes college au, but about nine years later. I still haven’t posted my college au yet (ahaha orz) but it’ll get here eventually. Meanwhile, enjoy the domestic holiday bliss as I crawl through finals and wait for Christmas.
> 
> Thanks always to my best friend Nebulaewrites (tumblr) for her support of my work, and for dippkip (ao3) for beta reading!

_The Christmas Song_ echoed softly through the Manor, just as delicate and heartwarming as the tufts of snow that floated to the ground just outside. Bruce shifted in his bed, groaning slightly when his arm escaped the cocoon of warmth his comforter brought and pulled it back in, turning to his side so he faced the other body occupying his mattress.

Clark was already awake, because Clark _always_ woke up before Bruce—even when the sun was hardly visible through the overcast blanket of gray covering the sky. Clark just woke with the sun, no matter where they were.

“’Morning,” he smiled, the wrinkles and laugh lines of his face creasing so _damn_ cutely, and Bruce allowed himself to be kissed on the cheek, the nose, the lips.

“Mm. Hardly.” Bruce mumbled, decidedly pushing his face forward into the crook of Clark’s neck, and Clark laughed, most likely on purpose so that Bruce would shift as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“You’re not wrong. It’s 8:30.”

Bruce scowled, though the expression quickly slid off his face as he moved to kiss Clark for himself on the neck, the jaw, the lips.

“Did Alfred’s music wake you?” Bruce hummed, knowing it didn’t.

“Maybe,” A lie, and Clark shifted up on his elbow, a better angle to graze kisses over Bruce’s face. Bruce didn’t move.

They enjoyed their lazy kisses until around 9, when Clark couldn’t take being in bed any longer and slipped out, careful not to let too much winter chill permeate their bed warmth.

“You getting up?” Clark asked as he put on his robe.

“Eventually.” Bruce mumbled. Not a lie. With Clark being out of the bed, it was hardly worth lingering there at all.

“It’s your day off,” Clark moved to the window, peeking out through the frosty glass. “You should make the most of it.”

A frown. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Clark shrugged. “It’s been a million years since you’ve had a day off.”

“Fifty. I’ve been in this business _fifty_ years, and I take days off during the year, Clark.” Bruce rolled over, better facing his husband.

“Not spontaneously. You take days off for holidays, for birthdays, trips. Everything planned.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “You’re so picky.”

Through a grin, “That’s why you love me.”

Bruce huffed, throwing off the covers, biting through a shiver and stands, trudging over to Clark. “One of the reasons.” He mumbled, slipping his hand into Clark’s.

Satisfied with his work, Clark took the initiative to wrap Bruce in his respective robe before they abandoned the bedroom.

“So. What is Bruce Wayne-Kent going to do with his spontaneous day off, which definitely _wasn’t_ encouraged—”

“Forced,” Bruce cut in.

“— _encouraged_ by his loving, wonderful husband?”

Bruce sighed, but it wasn’t weary or annoyed. “Well. Today’s agenda—”

“Agenda?” Clark’s turn to cut in. “No _no_ , Bruce. Bruce, _darling_ , you’re doing it again.”

Confused. “What?”

“Planning. Agendas aren’t spontaneous!” Clark throws up his free hand in mock despair.

Bruce scoffs. “Well what would _you_ suggest, then?”

“If I may, sirs” Alfred started, holding a steaming pot of coffee and two mugs for them as they walked into the kitchen. “I have some ideas.”

* * *

 

They decided to meet in one of the many coffee shops in downtown Gotham. Clark insisted on walking, and they strode hand-in-hand through the streets, since Bruce stopped caring long ago about the subtle pictures taken, the not-so-subtle videos, and the various ways people pointed him— _them_ —out on the street, whether through a whisper and a gesture or a honk and a loud, “Bruce Wayne 2016!”

Or maybe Bruce never cared.

They entered _Something Old, Something Brew_ , one of Dick’s favorite cafes, and sat in the corner nook. They didn’t let go of each other, even when they sat down.

“How many was it today?” Clark hummed across from his husband, their hands held visible on the table, while Clark rubbed circles into his palm.

“Fourteen pictures, two videos, and a—a Snapchat, that’s what it’s called, right?”

Clark snorted. “You’re so old. Get with the times.”

“Like you know what a Snapchat is.”

A mischievous grin, as Clark dug out his phone. “Tim showed me, actually. Made me download it because you wouldn’t. I don’t really send anything, I just look at people’s stories.”

Bruce stared as Clark tapped on Tim’s username, TimmyD, and immediately there appeared a selfie of him, and honest to God _selfie_ of his 27-year-old son with a Starbuck’s cup, grinning at the name scribbled in sharpie. _Staring the winter off right! :)_ , the caption read, and Bruce found himself smiling.

“Dick has one, too.” Clark noted, scrolling down to find Dick’s username, and tapped.

“I’m not surprised.”

Snapchat stories consisted of either photos or videos, a seemingly infinite number, that disappeared 24 hours after being posted.

Dick seemed to have multiple of each for every hour of the day.

The most recent made Bruce scowl a little. The video hastily zoomed in on a pair walking down the street, and Dick’s voice was breathy, trying to be quiet.

 _“Bruce Wayne spotted in Gotham, with adorable hubby Clark Kent. Ew. Look at them. Just_ look _how disgustingly_ cute _.”_

“How did you not notice him?” Clark grinned, suppressing his laughter as Bruce’s face fell into his free hand.

“I’m losing it, Clark. I’m losing my touch. This is it, the end for me.”

“Might as well be!” Dick’s voice floated in like the breeze, easy and light as he wheeled in a snickering Barbara from outside, though not before taking her scarf and coat and hanging them by the door.

“Hi,” She managed through her laughter, waving. Dick positioned the chair just a foot from the table, and the two older men stood in greeting.

“Hey, Babs.” Clark smiled, bending down for a hug. “And Dick. I was just showing Bruce Snapchat.”

“Oh?” Dick grinned, hugging Bruce before moving to Clark, and Bruce to Barbara. Their greetings finishing, Dick tucked Babs into the open side of the table, then slid into the booth beside Bruce. “And he’s not kicking and screaming? Did he say _whippersnapper_ at all, because I’ve been told old people say that while referring to the younger generation.”

“You’re literally the only person in existence who still says that word, Dick.” Barbara laughed, and Dick reached for her hand over the table.

“What word?” He asked innocently.

“You know what word.”

“Nnnope, sorry, not sure that I do.”

“I hate to interrupt this very important discussion,” Clark said into a smile. “But I’m going to go order. Want anything?”

Dick managed to convince Clark to stray from his usual and try the Nitro brewed coffee, while Bruce stuck to his extra-shot latte. Dick himself sat down with a Frappuccino with the biggest wad of whipped cream on top, while Barbara settled on something dusted in cinnamon.

They chatted about everything, from Dick’s new job at the police academy to their plans for Christmas shopping for the rest of the afternoon. Bruce hadn’t even noticed that an hour and a half had gone by before Dick stood to take a phone call outside.

“We should probably be going, after he finishes that call.” Barbara smiled, twirling the straw of Dick’s now empty cup. “Unlike you and your incredible spontaneity—and I might add, I’m proud of you for it, Bruce—Dick and I have lots to do today, since it’s his only day off this week. Christmas shopping is being done _early_ this year, for everyone’s sanity.”

* * *

 

“This isn’t very spontaneous.”

Bruce shakes his head, glancing up at the shining skyscraper in front of them—Wayne Tower. “I had no plans prior to today to do _any_ of this, and you’re really complaining?”

Clark pursed his lips together. “You shouldn’t be going into the office on your day off.”

An annoyed groan. “ _Clark_. We are going to visit Tim, not _work_. I promise I won’t sneak away from you to try to answer email.”

Clark laughed. “Fine, but if I see you lift a single finger to a keyboard, I’m making the Board give you more mandatory days off.”

They were greeted with fond smiles and polite waving, the receptionist commenting how Bruce had today off, and Clark nudged his side gingerly.

Several stories higher, the duo made their way to the office just next to Bruce’s, and Clark excitedly congratulated Bruce on being able to pass it without a single tear. Bruce socked his arm like it was a punching bag.

After a knock, Tim’s voice called them inside, and what they were met with wasn’t entirely abnormal, but even after living with the boy since Tim was young, Bruce would never get used to it.

The first thing Bruce noticed was the stacks. Of everything. Everything you could possibly stack was stacked in some facet of order around the office: papers, files, cups, mugs, pencils (somehow), boxes, books, pillows. All in areas that were relatively appropriate for what they were, so the room seemed like it had a method to its madness, but Bruce was always a tidy person and could hardly see how Tim lived in this for eight-plus hours a day.

The second thing was, unsurprisingly, the sheer number of coffee-holding utensils strewn around the place. At least eight different kinds of cups (mugs and Starbucks paper cups), an espresso machine, and Bruce was pretty sure that was a bowl of leftover coffee grinds.

Bruce made a mental note to have a cleaner sent up here first chance he could reach a phone.

“Tim,” Clark spoke up first, waving as he trotted up to the desk.

When Tim’s gaze lifted from his Macbook, the third thing Bruce noticed, with a frown, was the bags under Tim’s eyes. Tim smiled, though barely, and stood from his seat, maneuvering with a bit of difficulty around his desk to get to his dads.

“I thought you were off today.” Tim teased, wrapping arms around Clark, then Bruce, though Bruce’s Dad Instincts were flashing enough major red warning lights that he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh.

“Tim, what’s wrong?” He prodded, and Tim shrunk a little. “You looked fine in your Snapchat story a few hours ago, now you look like you’ve been up for days.”

“Bruce, honestly, I—wait. You were on _Snapchat_?” Tim blinked, glancing to Clark for confirmation, only reeling back with more surprise when his step-dad nodded. “That’s amazing! _Bruce Wayne_ was on _Snapchat_! Oh my god, I _have_ to tell Dick—”

Clark snorted. “We were just with him. He and I helped educate Bruce on the app—it was rather enlightening. For me, anyway, as his spouse.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Bruce sighed indignantly, crossing his arms.

The younger man mirrored his sigh, moving back towards his desk to lean on it. “I’m fine, Bruce, I just— shitty work stuff, people making my life harder than it needs to be… a _stupid_ interview I didn’t even _want_ to do coming up later… and Kon wasn’t feeling well today so I’m _worried_ , and Christmas shopping, _oh my god_ I have _no_ time for shopping lately, and it’s coming up _so fast_ —”

“Tim.”

Bruce and Clark were at each of his sides in an instant, Bruce already reaching to take his son’s hand. Tim hadn’t realized it, but as he spoke he was breathing less and less, and now he was sweating. It hit him immediately, the younger man blinking away stress tears.

“Sounds like _you’re_ the one who needs a day off.” Clark chuckles, leaning down to fondly kiss Tim’s head, Tim quickly flushing.

“Go home early, be with Connor.” Bruce says, more of an order than anything, but his voice is fond and fatherly, making Tim flush a little more. “If anyone needs something from you, make one of the interns do it.”

Tim laughs loudly, nodding as he wipes the rest of the stress from his eyes and quickly hugs Bruce.

“You make a compelling argument, B.” 

* * *

 

Collin’s apartment sat in one of the less populated intercity neighborhoods. Damian had helped him pick it out a few years ago, more strategically than Colin seemed comfortable with, but, in the end, benefitted the most from. It was a short few minutes’ drive from the hospital in case Colin needed it in an emergency, it wasn’t too far from the Manor or Wayne Enterprises, and it was secluded enough that it wasn’t in a sketchy part of the city or that the inhabitants would be a bother to him.

Since he bought it, Damian had gradually helped him decorate. Colin, having grown up homeless for most of his life, was just happy to have a home at all.

Damian _made_ it homey and, adorably, Colin credited him completely. Rugs, potted plants, local art, comfy blankets, odd coffee table books about kittens wearing hats or the origins of different superheroes. Add some fancy coffee makers and expensive bedding to the mix, and you had a cozy home for one (sometimes two).

In this case, two. Damian refused to stay at the Manor for his entire Christmas break, and, instead, opted to share a room with Colin. He’d only arrived from the University a few days ago, but already, as Bruce and Clark stepped through the front door, they could tell he’d made himself at home.

Two mugs of steaming cider sat virtually untouched on the coffee table in front of the TV, which played _Christmas in Connecticut_ , while the two inhabitants of the apartment sat snuggled into the couch, wrapped in a variety of blankets. Damian was typing away at his laptop, paying more attention to it than the TV, while Colin lay with his legs over Damian’s lap, rubbing the controller with the entirety of his focus on the tension Elizabeth Lane’s lies were causing for the plot.

As the husbands stepped in, however, Damian’s head shot up from his screen, the youngest Wayne grinning widely as he threw off the covers (and, in turn, Collin’s legs) and rushed over to greet them.

“Father! You’ve arrived!” He announced excitedly, Bruce smiling as he pulled his son into a warm hug. Clark repeated the action, ruffling Damian’s hair and waving to Collin.

“Hey Bruce, Clark,” Collin waved back shyly from the couch, scrambling to sit up amongst the tangle of plush blankets.

“You _must_ try our cider. I believe I’ve perfected Pennyworth’s recipe.” Damian says proudly, trudging into the kitchenette and grabbing for two mugs.

“Oh really? Have you told Alfred that?” Bruce chuckled in amusement as Damian handed him a wink-emoji mug.

Damian scoffs, passing another mug to Clark as he moves back over to the couches, settling in again next to Collin, who happily obliged, wrapping an arm around Damian’s waist.

“I do not have a _death wish_ , Father, otherwise I _would_ have.”

Bruce and Clark found themselves in the loveseat beside them, sipping their ciders and chatting about the other siblings, occasionally pausing so Clark could hear the movie and Collin could explain the plot they missed. Bruce quietly observed the pair as the afternoon progressed, the way Collin brushed the hair from Damian’s eyes, the way Damian prodded Collin’s stomach when the ginger made a stupid pun. The way his youngest son’s eyes softened at the very beginnings of Collin’s laughter.

The way Collin’s hands caressed Damian’s waist, and Damian’s hands grazed Collin’s free hand.

They had been together only a year, but their friendship went way back—Bruce remembered the first day Damian brought the starry-eyed kid over for dinner at the Manor, instantly recognizing the unique effect he’d had on his son.

“I’ve finally been able to work on my novel,” Damian mused after the movie had ended, gesturing lightly to his Macbook. “With everything happening at the University, I had _no_ time to even _open_ the document.”

“You work way too hard. Like your pops.” Collin smiles, nudging his boyfriend. “Show ‘em!”

“Yes, show us, Damian.” Bruce agreed, truly interested. But then Damian’s face instantly flushed and his eyes grew wide, glancing down to his laptop again.

“… You can’t see it. Not until it’s done.” Damian mumbles, rubbing the side of his Mac. Collin’s expression softens, his hand lifting to rub Damian’s back.

“D, your writing is great. You have nothing to worry about.”

“You’re only saying that because we’re dating.” Damian sighs, but looks up at the other anyway.

“No, I’m saying it because it’s true and I mean it.” Collin grins, prompting a smile and a sigh from Damian.

“Fine.” Damian mumbled, shoving the computer into Bruce’s lap. “But if either of you spill a _word_ of this to Grayson, I’m never coming back to the Manor, _ever_.”

* * *

 

“They certainly missed each other. I’ve never seen Damian so affectionate.” Clark mused with a silly smile as they walked out of the apartment complex, slipping his hand into Bruce’s again as they walked.

“Mm. Only with Collin-- or his _pets_.” Bruce mumbles, remembering how heartbroken the boy was when he found out he couldn’t take any of them to school, not even Alfred the cat.

Clark grins, giving his hand a squeeze. “Bruce, I feel like we’re making good time, it’s only three o’clock! Which kid should we visit next?”

Bruce snorts are they round a corner, not sure where they were going, but not much caring. “You make it sound like that’s a plan, and I thought today was supposed to be _spontaneous_.” Bruce chuckles, putting an emphasized goofy voice on ‘spontaneous.’

Clark’s eyes squint and he whines. “Br _uuu_ ce.”

“Hey, those were your words, not mine. I’m just saying—”

Before he could finish, however, his phone began buzzing in his pocket to the tune of Uptown Funk—Bruce received a few surprised looks from passersby as he immediately answered.

“Stephanie, great timing.”

“Bruce, hey!” Stephanie’s bright voice chimed from the other end. They took another corner into a less crowded and noisy block, though Bruce soon noticed Clark seemed to be looking for something in particular. “Funny how that always seems to happen when I call.”

“Hi Steph!” Clark calls into the phone, Bruce lifting it away so she could hear.

Stephanie laughs. “Hi, Clark.”

Bruce chuckles, moving the phone back to his ear. “What’s up, Stephanie? Are you in town yet?”

“Yup! ‘S why I’m calling, actually. I just landed, I’m picking up my bags. I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight? With Alfred, too, of course!”

Clark slowed to a stop in front of a tiny store decked out in the most Christmas decorations Bruce had seen since his own Manor. His husband smiled eagerly, almost slyly, as he looked to Bruce for permission to go inside, tugging at his arm.

Bruce rolls his eyes and nods to the store. “Go in, Clark, I’ll meet you inside.”

Silently rejoicing, Clark pecked Bruce’s cheek and hurried inside, the smells of peppermint and pine wafting from the store. Bruce takes a seat on a low wall containing some planters of poinsettia and looks up at the clouds.

“Sorry, Clark got excited, he found that Christmas store on 5th Ave. he loves so much. You said dinner?” He pauses, clicking his tongue. “I think Alfred already put in a ham for tonight. Which, of course, you’re welcome to, if you’re not busy.”

From Stephanie’s end came some shuffling and huffing, and the sound of a set of wheels rolling as she started walking. “I’m down. The only thing I have planned today is seeing Arthur.”

Bruce furrows his brow. That was different than the plan she told him a week ago. “I thought you were going to Tim’s place tonight?”

She sighs. “Well. That _was_ the plan, but I didn’t see his text ‘til I landed—I guess Connor is really sick. Which is fine, I don’t wanna make things more stressful for ‘im. I was just going to see my dad today instead of tomorrow, and maybe see if I could stay at the Manor tonight too?”

“Of course, Stephanie.” He gives her a moment as he hears her struggle through a crowd, and there might have been a curse word somewhere from her end.

“Do you need a ride to Blackgate?” Bruce began, watching a couple pass by with a baby dressed as an elf.

“Nah, I’m getting a cab,” She hums, whistling sharply, though not to Bruce.

“… You’re going to a penitentiary with your luggage?”

“It’s just one suitcase. And a bag.”

“Call Alfred, Stephanie, he’ll come get you.”

“Bruce.”

“ _Stephanie_.”

She groaned, loudly. Distantly—and begrudgingly—she tells a cab driver she had changed her mind. After some honks, she responded. “ _Fine_ , I’ll go to the Manor first, drop off my stuff, then—actually, I’ll just take _your_ car.”

Bruce could practically hear her smirk.

“How do you know I’m not using the car?”

“Because if you’re on 5th Ave., you definitely walked with Clark—there’s no way he’d drive downtown with Christmas coming up. Look around, I bet there’s _no_ parking.”

Bruce didn’t have to look around to know she was right.

“… I’m going to take credit for teaching you your detective skills.”

“Of course, B! And I’ll take care of your car, don’t worry.”

* * *

 

Shoving the phone in this pocket, Bruce walked into the store to jingling bells against glass and that familiar Christmas tree scent, and quite possibly the most ridiculous number of different ornaments Bruce had ever seen. Even the Wayne household’s nine foot, organic pine tree that they decked out to every last needle didn’t have this many ornaments or garland. One shelf of the store had ornaments of characters and quotes from the recent _Harry Potter_ movie, the _Trolls_ movie, and entirely too many _Minions_ ornaments. Another shelf displayed hundreds of colors and kinds of garland, from multicolored to fuzzy to beaded.

The rest of the store was filled with either more ornaments, tiny fake trees, or other appropriately Christmas-y items (Bruce eyed that elf on the shelf and quickly hurried past it). Bruce doesn’t have to look for his husband for very long, though, as the other practically sprints up to him with a tiny green ornament in his hands.

“Bruce! I found the _perfect_ thing for Jason!” Clark grins proudly, presenting the small green frog, balancing on two legs while riding a…unicycle?

“It’s a dat boi rip off, but I have to get it anyway. You know, the meme?”

Bruce spun on his heel and walked out right then, even as Clark called after him desperately.

“Wait, wait come back! You know the meme, right? Bruce?”

* * *

 

Jason’s townhouse sat neatly in the middle of a set of identical homes, red brick climbing three stories high, which made up for how hilariously thin the actual building was. Kori said it was cozy, and Bruce agreed, knowing ‘cozy’ was also a synonym for ‘tiny.’ Kori, Roy, and Jason had lived here ever since Jason moved out of the Manor four years ago. Bruce hadn’t minded at all – the boy’s reasons for moving were reasonable.

In fact, one of the two reasons answered the door.

“Kor—” Roy stopped and blinked, pushing his mess of ginger hair from his face in surprise—or maybe to try to make himself a bit more presentable in front of his boyfriend’s dads. “Whoa, hi Bruce, Clark. I—I wasn’t expecting you, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Sorry to pop in unannounced.” Clark laughed weakly, waving a bit, as Bruce nodded politely. “We were in the neighborhood, and thought we’d come by to say hello.”

“If you’re busy, though…” Bruce started, but Roy just waved his hand dismissively, bringing it up to rub at the bags under his eyes.

“It’s fine, really. Maybe you can actually, uh, help us out?” Roy smiles shyly, almost cautiously, wringing his hands on the doorframe.

Bruce frowns. “Of course, Roy.”

Roy seemed instantly relieved, stepping away from the door to let them in, and takes their coats. The inside smelled faintly of cinnamon and cigarette smoke, and stacks of Christmas décor boxes littered the floor, some open and spilling out red and green napkins and holly centerpieces, which didn’t help the already crowded living room. But the tree was up, right beside the bay window fogged from the cold, and though it had its lights on, only a few ornaments were up on it so far.

“We’re still getting organized, as you can see.” Roy said, absently waving to the mess as he continues down a hall, the husbands following close behind. He stopped by the stairwell and pauses, rubbing some scars on his hands. “Um. So, Bruce. It’s actually Jason.”

Bruce immediately tensed, his senses on high alert, ready to sprint to whatever the issue was—or wherever his son was. “And?”

Roy glanced up the stairs, fidgeting worse. “He didn’t sleep good last night. Like, at all. And, uh, we kinda had this shitty argument yesterday, and he’s been stressed from work, but you’re here, so maybe you could talk to him instead of me, cuz like, Kori went out to get him those weird spicy candies he likes since they’re like, his comfort food—”

“Roy.” Clark interrupted before Bruce can, voice much softer than Bruce’s would have been. “What happened?”

“The nightmares.” Roy sighs, rubbing his face. “I dunno, Clark, they were just so much _worse_ than usual today. He took a nap and in like, an _instant_ , he was screaming.”

In a flash Bruce was up the steps, barely able to hear Clark call after him as he rounded the hall corner and made for the far door. He only knocked once, _softly_ , before slowly peeking in to the dark room.

Jason shared his room with both Kori and Roy, so it was a constant hellscape of various make-up products and piles of discarded t-shirts and socks. The king bed sat square in the middle of the room, headboard on one wall and a TV on the wall across from it. A thick layer of blankets almost completely hid the body on the mattress, some tufts of black and white hair sticking wildly out of the blanket burrito.

Bruce first noticed that there was almost no noise—no sniffles or whines or groans, that was a good sign—just the soft shuddering of breath trying to be controlled. But the Jason-sized mound was clearly shaking, most prominently from the shoulder area. Bruce stepped in, avoiding each pile of towels or socks, making his way to the bed.

Calculatedly tender, Bruce softly started, “Jason?”

The mound didn’t flinch, but it clearly tensed. Bruce found his way to the bed, sitting with one knee up on the sheets, his hand reaching out to carefully comb down Jason’s hair.

“It’s alright.” Bruce continued. “You’re safe.”

He let Jason consider this a moment, and the body slowly shifted. His voice, muffled under the layers of cotton and ragged from crying, almost couldn’t be heard. “… Harper put you up to this.”

“Maybe.” Bruce hummed. “He told us what happened.”

Another shift, then a sigh, as Jason rolled onto his back, though still attempted to hide his face with his arm. “’Us?’”

“Clark and I. We wanted to visit. It’s my day off.”

Another pause, longer this time. But Bruce didn’t mind waiting.

After a long breath, Jason whispered, “Why?”

Bruce’s hand never left Jason’s head. “Because, in case this wasn’t apparent, we like you. All three of you. I daresay we _love_ you.”

As the younger man pulling the covers more over his face, Bruce’s lips twitched upwards at Jason’s muffled response.

“What was that?”

“Stupid. Sentimental. Old man.” Jason spat, throwing off the covers and sitting up completely to angrily scoot into Bruce’s arms.

Bruce was happy to oblige the gesture.

* * *

 

Bruce never had an easier time comforting Jason than today.

Sure, he was still as grouchy and pissy as the day Bruce took him in, but the fact that he was allowing himself to be so vulnerable in front of Bruce was surprising, to say the least. He wasn’t entirely sure what brought this on.

They made their way downstairs after a few more moments of comforting silence. Jason kept himself firmly secure in a self-hug, the bags under his eyes apparent and the paleness of his skin still lingering after the nightmares. Roy and Clark still stood in the corridor where Bruce had left them, both turning to look at their loves—Clark’s face softening, and Roy’s face discarding all worry for relief.

“Hey, Jaybird…” Roy started, approaching the other carefully. “Listen, I—”

“I’m sorry.” Jason mumbled, staring down at nothing in particular. “For being an asshole.”

Bruce moves back to Clark as Roy recoils in surprise, and Clark smiles, slipping his hand around Bruce’s waist.

“Hey… _hey_.” Roy beams as he lovingly holds Jason’s face. “ _I’m_ sorry. And, don’t worry, you’re still my _favorite_ asshole.”

“He’s okay?” Clark whispered as they followed Roy and Jason into the living room.

Bruce watched as Roy sat with Jason on the loveseat, snaking an arm around Jason’s waist and pulling him so Jason would lean on him. The other rubbed his face into Roy’s sweatshirt, grip on himself loosening as he relaxed to Roy’s sweet mumblings.

Bruce leaned into Clark a little, smiling softly. “Yeah, he will be.”

A few cups of coffee and a half hour of _White Christmas_ later, Kori burst into the room with a shining smile and an arm full of paper bags.

“Oh, Bruce! Clark! It is so good to see you! Please join us in eating these candies, as I believe I’ve bought too many to finish with just us.” She announced, pushing the books and ornaments on the coffee table aside to pour out the contents of the bags—hundreds of tiny orange Mexican candies. Jason’s eyes widened and his cheeks quickly flushed.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, pulling away from Roy’s embrace to survey his treasures. Roy snorted.

“Not to interrupt this beautiful moment, Jason,” Clark started, standing to take something from his coat pocket. “But, I have a small gift for you. Think of it as you pre-Christmas present.”

Presenting the tiny frog ornament to the room, Bruce wished he’d had his phone camera out and ready. Roy and Kori fell into each other laughing, and Jason went completely deadpan.

“What the fuck, Clark.”

* * *

 

Bruce and Clark left the unorthodox household with Kori’s warm kisses on their cheeks and pockets full of spicy candy. They opted for a cab drive home, as the snow had picked up a bit, and with the sun almost set, the temperature would continue to drop drastically.

They passed by Wayne Tower on their way home, lights flickering on, snow building on the walkways outside it.

“Oh, that reminds me.” Clark said suddenly, pulling out his phone. “I’m gonna text Connor, see if he’s alright.”

As Clark typed, Bruce settled into the seat and watched as the Christmas lights strung over the city’s trees started lighting up. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, especially with _Tim_ as his nurse.”

Clark laughed, adding a few extraneous emojis to his text before sending it.

“Speaking of kids,” Bruce added, glancing to Clark. “When is Jon getting into town?”

“Next week. He’s going to be with Lois this week, then come over on… Wednesday, I think.” Clark mused, his smile widening at the thought. “I’m really excited to see him.”

“I bet.” Bruce chuckled, stealing Clark’s hand away from his phone as the cab parks before the Manor. Bruce tips generously as they get out, the two all but running to the front door with the bite of winter wind on their faces.

“Master Bruce, Master Clark,” Alfred welcomes, Bruce kicking the door closed behind them. “Welcome back.”

They peel off extra layers of boots and socks and jackets and scarves, making their way to the TV room. Alfred, ever faithful, pulls out some steaming hot tea from nowhere and pours two cups.

Before they can settle, however, Clark’s phone begins ringing.

“It’s Jon.” Clark says quickly, pecking Bruce’s forehead as he steps out of the room. “Heya, kiddo, how are you?”

With enough coaxing from Bruce, Alfred finally sat down and took a cup of tea for himself. Bruce gave him the whole story—from Dick and Snapchat to Jason and dat boi.

“Stephanie arrived safely, I assume?” Bruce said between sips.

“Indeed, sir. She has your car, as you are aware. I believe she said she should be back from seeing her father at around seven when visiting hours end.”

“Bruce.”

The two turn to meet the gaze of Cassandra, meekly standing in the doorway of the sitting room. Bruce instantly smiles, waving her over. Her eyes shine and she smiles back, shuffling over to them. Alfred pours her a cup as she signs, _How was your day off?_

Bruce sets his cup down, signing and speaking back, _It was really good. I saw all the siblings. Stephanie is coming back soon, too._

Her smile brightens, and she nods eagerly. Being the only other girl in the Wayne household, Cassandra and Stephanie had bonded like none of the other siblings had. She was the first sibling to pick up sign language (and subsequently teach it to her brothers), and was practically inseparable from the other up until college. They had become more independent since then, of course, but as always, the mention of Stephanie seemed to light Cassandra’s whole world.

They chatted a while before Clark finally came back in, covering Cassandra’s face with smooches until she almost fell over laughing. He scooped her up and plopped her down in between himself and Bruce on the couch while Alfred rose to retrieve a blanket, promptly draping it over the trio.

“Alright, Cass, how about we watch a movie?” Clark chirped, grabbing for the controller. “Oh, and guess what?”

Cassandra blinks, signing, _What?_

Clark quickly motions, pointing to himself, crossing his arms over his chest with fists clenched, then gestures to Cassandra with his open palm up. _I love you._

She blushes, grinning widely as she signs back eagerly. _I love you, too._

Clark turns the channels until they find _Elf_ , each settling in with a new cup of tea, and Alfred takes the far end of the couch beside Bruce. Bruce finds Clark’s eyes over the warmth of Cassandra and her laughter, each husband holding one of her hands and he can’t help but wonder how he’d gotten so lucky.

“Hey, Clark?” Bruce hums, turning back to the movie.

“Yup?”

“Let’s be spontaneous again sometime.”

Clark just snorts. “With the days off you’ve never used over the years, we’ve got plenty of chances to do it again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh btw, I made a tumblr for my fanfic, sugarlumpwrites.tumblr.com so *finger guns* hit me up if you have questions or wanna chat or w/ever


End file.
